


French Souvenir

by Nevermore_red



Series: Lost and Found [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 01:00:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6217285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevermore_red/pseuds/Nevermore_red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is the final installment of this little series. AdultOrphan was right. I did grow bored and this is the result. Enjoy :)</p>
    </blockquote>





	French Souvenir

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AdultOphan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=AdultOphan).



> This is the final installment of this little series. AdultOrphan was right. I did grow bored and this is the result. Enjoy :)

Sandor paced around Sansa's living room, wondering what the hell was taking her so long in the damn loo. He checked his watch for the fifth time and realized they only had twenty minutes to be at the restaurant.

"Sansa!" he yelled at the closed bedroom door. "We need to bloody go. You're going to make us late for your own damn party!"

"Just one more minute!" she called back. Sandor rolled his eyes and went to flop down on the most uncomfortable couch in the world.

It had been a month since he'd shown up here and, for the most part, he hadn't really left. Out of the last month, he'd maybe spent five nights at his own house. Bronn and Margaery had been excitedly accepting of his and Sansa's relationship. Most of her other friends that he'd met over that time had seemed confused by her choice in him, but never said anything. At least in his presence. Her family had been another story. Rickon was the only one that seemed sincerely happy about it at first, but Sandor had known he would. That boy damn near worshiped the ground he walked on. Meeting Eddard and Catelyn had been...an experience. Catelyn had seemed suspicious and concerned, and that hadn't changed much though Sansa convinced her to at least accept him since he made her happy. That first night Ned had treated him with the bare minimum of respectability and polite decorum and had spent much of the time grilling him over his life choices and his intentions with Sansa. The next weekend he'd gone to Portsmouth with Ned and all of her brothers for a title fight. By the end of the weekend the Stark men were accepting of him, and Ned even told him he was excited to see Sansa finally happy with a good man. He'd been out a few times with Jon and Robb since then and found that he actually liked them.

Arya Stark was something else. He had yet to be around the little wolf bitch without them going to rows. She was hard headed and stubborn with a quick temper and an even quicker mouth. The irony of their similarities were not lost on Sandor. Tonight he would get to deal with them all in one place, all at one time, along with a few of her uncles and aunts and cousins, not to mention all of her friends. But tonight was her night, so he'd endure it for her. Sansa deserved it. She'd worked damn hard at school and had finished graduate school. Tonight would be to celebrate that accomplishment.

"Sansa!" he shouted again. "Come on, girl. We need to go." The bedroom door jerked open and Sansa rushed out.

"I'm sorry." she seemed flustered and anxious as she stabbed an earing through one ear while slipping on her heels at the same time. "Is a car waiting?"

"It has been for the past ten minutes." he held out her jacket for her. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." she smiled quickly but didn't look at him. He didn't like that, but before he could say anything she grabbed her purse and was rushing out the door so he followed. She was probably just harried because they were running late.

Her party was held at a high end Italian place in a private room. Food and drink and presents were passed around, toasts were made, congratulations given. Sandor was glad that Bronn had come with Margaery so he had someone to sit with while Sansa made her way around the room. He kept an eye on her while he carried on a conversation with her uncle Benjen about the heavy weight title fight coming up. She looked tired to him, preoccupied by something. He also couldn't help but take note of the fact she had been carrying around the same glass of wine since they'd arrived, without having taken a sip of it. That was odd. Italian wine was usually her favorite. Towards the end of the night Ned and Catelyn stood up and said a touching speech, Ned popping a bottle of champagne in honor of their daughters achievement. Sansa had looked at her flute like her father had handed her a cup of special kool aide, but then she seemed to shake it off internally and took a sip with a smile.

It took another half hour of goodbyes and congratulations before they were finally able to make it back to her flat. He silently followed her into the bedroom where she kicked off her heels with a sigh.

"You feeling alright, little bird?" he asked, pulling his dress shirt free of his trousers.

She looked up at him with a startled expression. "Why do you ask?" she looked at his chest, then turned to go into the open bathroom door. He kicked his shoes off and followed her to lean against the door frame. She sat at the vanity next to the sink, removing her jewelry methodically.

"You seem distracted." he cocked his head to the side and met her gaze in the mirror. "And I heard you getting sick last night."

Her face went crimson and she looked at the marble vanity top. "I'm not ill."

A sick, worried feeling swirled in his gut. "Then what is it?" he asked low. Sansa's brows knitted together as she chewed her bottom lip without looking at him.

"I don't want you to get angry." Her softly spoken request immediately raised his worry, which he masked by getting mad, just as she asked him not to, but his mind had gone to the worst possible conclusion.

"If you're done, girl, just bloody tell me." her eyes flew to his in the mirror and he sneered at her. "I don't like games. If you want me to go, tell me and I'll pack my shite and go. Just don't fucking play with me."

"No, Sandor." she spun around on the little stool to face him, her big blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "No, I don't want you to leave." her chin quivered, her bottom lip pouting out slightly as the tears overflowed. His chest twisted painfully at the sight and his anger deflated. He let his arms fall to his sides, confusion and worry waring within him. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but she stood up, a soft sob spilling from her mouth.

"Please, oh please, Sandor, don't leave." she reached blindly for him and he pulled her into his chest, wrapping both arms around her.

"Hush, girl." he cleared his throat, uncomfortable and unsure of what to do to help her, or what even brought this on. "Stop crying. I don't like you crying." he said gently, rubbing his hands up and down her back.

"I'm sorry." she sniffled, pulling herself together but holding him tighter.

"What's all this about, Sansa?" he asked. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm scared you might once I tell you."

At the end of his patience, Sandor took hold of her shoulders and pushed her away from him so he could see her face. "Tell me. Now."

Swallowing several times, she took a deep breath and her watery eyes met his with resolution and determination. He wanted so badly to kiss her and assure her everything was fine, but he needed to know what was wrong.

And then she sucked every ounce of breath from his lungs with two simple words. "I'm pregnant."

 

*

 

Sansa bit the inside of her cheek and watched his face go from impatient worry to shock to carefully blank.

So maybe she'd overwhelmed him a little with her outburst, but she couldn't help it. She was crying at the drop of a hat lately. Her emotions had been in a constant state of upheaval since she'd taken that first at home test a week ago. Apparently she carried inside of her a permanent reminder of their time in France. She was terrified of what his reaction would be. In her heart she knew he was a good man. He wouldn't deny the child. But, then again they hadn't talked much about their future. He had said in France he didn't want a family, but then the day before she'd taken the test they'd gone to Robb's house to meet her brand new niece. Sandor hadn't held her but he had looked intently at her face while Sansa held her and when they left he said maybe babies weren't so bad.

She really hoped he meant that, because she was going to have this baby. She had nothing against women who chose another way, but it just wasn't for her. With or without him, she was going to be a mother. She just really, really wanted him to be there with her.

It felt like several minutes passed before he found his voice. "You're sure?"

Sansa allowed a small smile. "I think six positive tests is grounds enough to be sure."

"You haven't been to a doctor?" his hands fell from her shoulders.

"Not yet." she licked her lips. "I have an appointment Monday."

"You want this? You want a baby?" he asked the questions quickly, clipped. Her stomach plummeted.

"I'm not getting rid of it, Sandor." she said firmly, lifting her chin, forcing the tears back.

A confused look crossed his face, his one brow pulling down. "Of course your not." that brow lifted. "Had you considered it?"

"No." she shook her head. "I know we haven't talked about it and...and it's so soon, but yes. I want this baby." she took another deep breath. "Would you like to come to my appointment with me Monday?"

His eyes narrowed at her. "Of course." he took a step closer to her and tipped her chin up so she met his gaze. "Did you think I wouldn't? You said you thought I'd leave. Is that really how little you think of me?"

"No!" Sansa gasped, reaching up to grasp his shirt collar. "Gods, Sandor, no. I didn't mean it that way. It's just that we didn't plan this and you, well, you said once that you didn't want a family."

"Daft little bird." he shook his head, then leaned down and kissed her gently. "You ready for bed?"

Sniffling once again, Sansa nodded and let him help her out of her dress and into bed. It took some coaxing on her part for him to touch her, to convince him that he wouldn't hurt her or the baby. She explained to him how tiny it was and how enclosed it was. Still, he made her get on top so she could control their pace and intensity. It took longer that way. She enjoyed how passionate Sandor was when it came to sex, loved his roughness and wildness. It was still good, it always was when she was with him, and she was quietly thrilled when afterwards he spooned up behind her and gently rubbed her abdomen.

Monday morning came around and Sandor picked her up from the art house she was apprenticing at to take her to the doctors. They hadn't talked about the pregnancy since she told him. He hadn't really said what he was thinking about it, or feeling about it. She had no idea if he was disappointed or angry.

For her part, Sansa refused to regret any of it. She knew when it had happened. After their snowball fight in France he'd taken out the condom, but never put it on. It was a little amusing to her, after years and years of fretting and worrying about never being able to conceive that all it took was one time. A single slip of thought in the heat of the moment. But it had been wonderful and beautiful and she couldn't regret it. It was the first time he'd let her see him. The real him.

The ride to the doctors office was silent. The wait in the waiting room and tense and awkward. Sandor sat next to her while she filled out the pile of paperwork, pointedly not looking at the other women's swollen bellies. Sansa had to glare at a few for staring so openly at his scars and they all went back to their old magazines or phones quickly.

Being back in the office was even worse. Sandor stood awkwardly beside the table where she lay with her feet in stirrups and a white paper sheet covering her while the balding doctor searched around her lady parts.

"You can sit in a chair, Mr. Stark." Dr. Luwin said after he finished up his exam.

"It's Clegane." Sandor mumbled.

"Oh." he glanced at Sansa, then let her feet down. "My apologies. Alright, Ms. Stark, this may be a little cold." he stood and shifted the paper blanket down and lifted her shirt to expose her belly and squirt cool blue gel on her. Sansa looked over at the blank screen next to the table while he ran a wand over her skin. Fuzzy whiteness filled the screen with a black circle inside of it.

"See that?" Dr. Luwin pointed at the slightly bean shaped thing inside the black circle that wiggled around. Sansa nodded. "That's the baby."

Sansa smiled broadly and shifted so she could see it better. It was there, squirming around, looking vaguely human shaped but with too big a head and too small of limbs.

"Looks like you're about nine weeks. Sound about right?"

"Yes." Sansa breathed, still staring at the screen with a ridiculous smile on her face.

"What's that sound?" Sandor's voice rattled from her other side and she spared him a look. He was staring intently at the screen, an odd look on his face.

"That, Mr. Clegane, is the sound of your baby's heart beating." he pointed to a flutter on the white bean baby. "There."

Sansa glanced from the screen to Sandor and felt her chest lighten when an awed smile spread across his face.

"Everything looks wonderful." Dr. Luwin cleaned her belly off and helped her to sit up. "You can keep up with your normal routine. The nurse will give you a list of foods and things to avoid, but it's nothing too intense. You can continue with whatever physical activity you already do, as well as sexual activity, unless there's pain or spotting. Other than that, keep up with taking your prenatals and we'll see you in four weeks."

After she put her trousers back on they went and checked out and the receptionist gave her folder with a few magazines and a list of does and don'ts. Sandor was oddly silent as they made their way back to his truck, but Sansa was distracted by the magazine that had detailed pictures of each week and month of pregnancy with a description of what was happening with each stage.

"You going back to the office or your flat?" Sandor's voice broke into her research.

"Oh, um, the flat. I have the rest of the day off." she looked over at him. "Are you going back to the gym?"

"I have a few things I need to take care of."

For some reason that upset her. She wanted to spend the rest of the day with him gushing about the baby and pouring over all the information she'd been given. But, he was right. He still had a job and he needed to take care of his responsibilities.

"Alright." she gathered her purse from the floorboard as he pulled up to the front doors of her building. "I'll see you for dinner." she leaned over the seat and he met her half way for a quick kiss.

-

By the time Sandor got home that evening she had worked herself up into a right state. She'd finished reading and rereading all of the magazines the doctor had given her and knew in detail exactly what stage her baby was at and that it was the size of a grape. But Sandor hadn't seemed as excited as her. What if he just felt responsible and was horribly upset about this baby but he was obligated to stick around to take care of her and it? That wasn't what she wanted. She wanted him to be happy, to be excited. She wanted him to _want_ the baby.

When he finally made it home she was laying on the floor in front of her sofa with her tablet looking at ways to incorporate the father in pregnancy. She quickly exited out of it when he all but burst in, his hands full of papers.

"What's all that?" she asked, as he rounded the couch to the kitchen table that separated the living room from the kitchen. He glanced down at her and frowned as he sat the papers down.

"Should you be laying on your stomach like that?"

Sansa grinned. "It's the size of a grape, Sandor. I'm not going to squish it."

"A grape, yeah?"

"A grape." she smiled and nodded, the anxious tension draining from her. Getting up she went to the table so she could see the papers. "This gym stuff?" she asked, then furrowed her brow when she seen the top paper.

"No. They're property listings." he pulled a chair out and motioned for her to sit as he took the seat next to her. "I left the gym early and swung by the realtor up the road. I was preapproved last year for a home loan of 450,000 pounds. I had the lady print me off some listings in that range. We can go through them and you can pick the area you're wanting to live. School districts and all that shite. You'll know more than me anyway."

While he spoke, Sansa sat staring at him ruffling through the papers with a slack jaw. "You want to buy a house?"

He sat the paper he was looking at down and looked at her with a curious expression. "Aye. Can't very well have a nursery in this flat. Too small."

A grin stole across her face. "You want us to live together?"

"Course I do." he shifted sideways in his chair so he could face her, letting out a sigh. "Look, Sansa, I know I said I didn't want a family. And I know we'd never talked about it before, but I'm going to be here. I _want_ to be here, with you and with our baby. But that's going to need to be in a bigger place. Right?"

"Right." she smiled as a tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.

Sandor frowned and thumbed it off. "Bloody hell, little bird. Don't cry, damn it."

"I'm not." she shook her head and smiled wider. "I'm happy."

He lifted his brow and gave her an unsure look before turning back to the papers. They spent the rest of the evening going over housing listings, narrowing down the area they wanted to live and all the other details. When they laid down for bed that night Sansa breeched the subject she'd been avoiding until then.

"We have to tell my family." she mumbled into his chest hair. He went tense under her, the fingers that had been skimming her back pausing in their action.

"Aye, guess we do." he went back to his petting. "You think they'll be mad?"

Sansa had thought a lot about that. "Not mad, but I think they'll be surprised. Maybe disappointed that it's happening so quickly."

She felt Sandor nod, then his lips met her forehead in a soft kiss. It made her feel like everything was going to be alright.

"We should start with my siblings first. Work up to mum and dad."

"Whatever you want, little bird."

"After they know we can tell our friends."

"Not like we could keep it from them forever." he chuckled. "I'm told pregnancy eventually becomes a noticeable thing. And ends in a bairn."

Sansa laughed into his chest and hugged him tighter. Yes, everything would be alright. Maybe even better than alright.

 

*

 

Sansa's brothers had taken the news rather well. Robb had been excited that his little girl would soon have a cousin to play with. Jon, Bran, and Rickon had been shocked but easily gave them their congratulations and support.

Arya hadn't been as easy, but Sandor expected nothing else. After several threats of bodily harm and castration, Sansa had managed to calm her down, saying she needed her to be happy about it if she were going to be the baby's godmother. The wolf girl softened at that.

Although Sansa had been insistent her parents wouldn't go mental, she was still a ball of nerves that weekend when they went to their house for dinner. They hadn't gone mental exactly, by they weren't bursting with joy either. Ned said little, only expressing concern over Sandor's ability to finically support a child. Once he'd been assured that Sandor made more than enough to take care of his daughter and grandchild, the wolf shook Sandor's hand and gave his daughter a tight hug.

Catelyn gave no such shows of acceptance. She kept asking Sansa how she could let something happen so soon. Sansa took it all in graceful stride until Catelyn questioned Sandor's ability to stick around. Sandor tensed, his fists clenching as he opened his mouth to put the bitch in her place, but Sansa's hand landed gently on his thigh and squeezed.

"That's enough, Mum." Sansa said firmly. "I'll not have you disrespecting Sandor when he has done absolutely nothing to warrant it. He's here, and he's not going anywhere. I suggest you get over your judgmental and haughty attitude. I wont stand for you making my child's father uncomfortable."

Catelyn mellowed after that, offering apologies but still no congratulations. Sandor could tell it was weighing heavily on Sansa from how silent she was on the drive back home.

"I don't know if she'll ever come round." she sighed once they got back to her flat.

"I think I have an idea of what will help." Sandor hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her into his chest.

"What's that?" she smiled, looking up at him.

"By giving her a pretty little baby bird with red hair and big blue eyes." he kissed her nose.

"I don't know." Sansa grinned at him. "I was thinking a precious little puppy with black hair and grey eyes." Sandor chuckled at that even as his stomach churned uneasily. He didn't want the child to be anything like him. It was far better off being like it's mother.

-

Life changed quickly over the next few months, and not just in his little birds belly. Together they'd been approved for a 650,000 pound home loan and last month had finished closing on a three up in Kensington. With the help of her brothers and Bronn, they'd been moved in within a week.

With his owning the gym, he'd been able to be there for each of Sansa's appointments. She'd gotten a permanent job at the art house as curator and assistant manager. Her bosses were excited about her pregnancy and were open and lenient about her upcoming postnatal leave. Today he'd taken off the morning to take Sansa in for another ultrasound, this one to tell them if the baby was a girl or a boy. At first Sansa hadn't wanted to know, but Sandor was quite impatient. Besides, he didn't like calling it an it. He talked her into it by convincing her they needed to get the room ready and if it were a girl he knew she'd want all the frilly lacy things that were sold for little girls.

"Mum has been texting me every half hour since I woke up this morning." Sansa told him as they waited in the waiting room, her phone in her hand.

"What's she want now?" Sandor scowled. He didn't like how Catelyn Stark was making Sansa upset by her reluctance to accept him and show excitement over the babe. Though she had been a little less acidic once Sansa's belly started to round out just a little.

"If I'm not mistaken, I think she's excited about finding out what it is." Sansa beamed, clicking her phone off and shoving it in her purse. Sandor couldn't help but smile as well.

"Sansa Stark?" the nurse called from the door and Sandor felt his chest flutter with excitement as he followed Sansa back to the darkened room where she laid out on a small bed and lifted her shirt. Sandor held her hand while the ultrasound tech explained what she was doing and then the screen lit up with the familiar sight, though the little jelly bean looked far more like an actual bairn this time and was moving around as the wand chased it.

"Your file says you're 19 weeks and 5 days. Is that right?"

"Yes ma'am." Sansa nodded.

"Well baby seems to be a little on the big side." the tech glanced over at Sandor and grinned. "Taking after it's father already."

Sansa giggled lightly. "Is that a bad thing?" she squeezed Sandor's hand. "The size I mean?"

"Not at all. There's plenty of fluid and space." she wiggled the wand on Sansa's belly again. "Let's see if it's a big boy or a big girl, shall we?"

"Yes, please."

There was silence as the tech maneuvered the wand around, shifting the view of the baby until it was in the right position. "This is the little bum." she pointed to the screen. "These are the legs. And this," she smiled widely and tapped a nail to the screen. "This means it's a little boy."

"A boy!" Sansa squealed, her head snapping around to look at him. Sandor couldn't look at her, he was concentrating on not making a complete arse of himself by crying. And judging by how weak his legs just got, he was also in danger of becoming a fainting arse.

 

*

 

Sandor refused to let her decorate the baby's nursery with teddy bears, or balloons and clouds, so eventually she settled for soft blue walls with chocolate accents. Her Mum had even come over and helped Sansa sew the curtains and bedding while Ned helped Sandor paint. Once the nursery was done, the baby shower was over, and the hospital bags were packed, there was nothing to do but wait.

And wait. And wait. And wait.

Sansa felt like an overinflated blimp. She couldn't breath, couldn't sleep, had trouble tying her shoes and her maternity pants were all getting too tight but she refused to buy more. Not when she was already four days overdo.

Sandor was a frantic mess. He didn't like leaving for work each day and was even more unhappy that Sansa continued to work. He called her every hour, texted her even more often. So it was a surprise when it was finally time that he wasn't answering his phone.

She'd woken that morning feeling a little tightening, but nothing too bad. She was quite certain it was just Braxton Hicks, but after a few hours at work it was happening more frequently and starting to become painful. She had just went to the directors office to tell her she was leaving when her water broke. Brienne, her director, had assured her after Sansa frantically apologized that it was quite alright. She even sat with Sansa in her office until Sansa finally called Bronn's phone and got an answer. Apparently Sandor was in the ring working with a new heavyweight prospect and that's why he couldn't come to the phone. When she told Bronn what was going on, she could hear him all but yelling across the gym at Sandor that it was 'go time'.

Sansa chose not to notice how quickly Sandor got there, knowing he'd broken a few laws in doing so, Rickon in tow. Instead, she was just grateful. And a little emotional. She cried when he came rushing through the art house, still wearing his athletic shorts and sweat stained shirt. His fists were still wrapped.

"Are you alright, little bird?" he knelt down and took her face in his hands.

"Yes." she smiled, then winced when another contraction hit. They were getting stronger now that her water had broken. "No. I don't know." she panted.

"Alright, off we go." Together he and Brienne got her in his new truck, this one a double cab with a car seat already strapped in the back and her bags stowed next to it, Rickon silently  tense on the other side.

Her mum and dad were waiting for them at the hospital, the other boys and Arya shortly behind them. They kept her entertained and her mind off the pain for the next few hours until it got too bad and the nurses made them go out to the waiting room. Sandor was amazing after that. He held her hand, wiped her down with a cold rag, rubbed her lower back, stabilized her as she bounced on the yoga ball, and offered her an arm as they walked the halls. When it was time, he got behind her in the tub, his big hands rubbing her shoulders while Dr. Luwin coached her in pushing from the side, uttering words of encouragement and pride in her ear while she worked her hardest to get their son into the world.

She was drained. Tired and exhausted and oh so ready to just throw in the towel. The pain was taking its toll and she was regretting not having an epidural. Then the pain got worse, so much worse, and then with one more big push, it was gone and she looked down in the water to see her son.

The feeling was indescribable as she lifted his wet and wiggling body above the water and onto her chest. He coughed a few times, then cried strongly. Her heart felt like it was going to swell completely out of her chest. She was laughing and crying and giggling all at the same time. It was bloody and messy and painful and so utterly perfect.

Sandor's strong arms wrapped around her, cradling her arms and their son and everything was beautiful.

 

*

 

Sandor had never been so bloody proud of anyone in his life. His little bird, as frail and delicate as she seemed, had been a fucking warrior in the delivery room. If he thought he couldn't love her anymore before then, he'd been wrong. So horribly wrong. His chest ached, literally ached, with the love he felt for her in that moment.

And he told her so. Whispered the words in her ear as he held her in the tub while she held their son. Words he'd never said before in his life.

"Oh, Sandor." she angled her head to look at him. "I love you, too. He's perfect. Absolutely perfect."

He was. Sandor got to hold him and properly look at him while Sansa dried off and made her way to the bed. He was big, just over 4kg. He had a head full of hair that had at first seemed auburn but once he was cleaned up, was more black with just a hint of red. His eyes, when he opened them and looked up at Sandor, were an odd mix of blue grey. They'd change, likely, and Sandor realized he wouldn't mind so much if they were grey like his.

He turned out to be a docile babe. He didn't scream or wail, just made a growling noise when he was hungry. Which seemed to be often. He was attached his Sansa's breast more times than not. She was tired, Sandor could tell, but was glowing with happiness.

They hadn't came to any agreements on a name. So it was the next afternoon when Dr. Luwin said they could go home in the morning if they could just come up with a name.

"No, Sansa." Sandor shook his head, pacing near the window while holding his sleeping son. He refused to name his son Florian. That he would put his foot down on.

"Fine, what do you want to name him?" Sansa laughed from her seat on the edge of the bed. "You haven't given one. You just keep shooting down my suggestions."

"Sandor Jr." he shot her a grin to show he was joking.

She laughed lightly, then stood and joined them at the window, running her fingers over his hair.

"How about Conall?" she kissed Sandor's shoulder. "It's Scottish. It means strong wolf."

Sandor looked over at Sansa in surprise and she smiled shyly. "What?" she giggled. "So I may have researched Scottish baby names. I want him to be proud of his heritage."

Oddly touched, Sandor swallowed a few times and looked down at the sleeping bairn in his arms. "Conall Clegane." he grinned and nodded. "It'll do."

"Conall Florian Clegane." Sansa corrected and Sandor narrowed his eyes at her serious expression. It lasted only a second, and then she started laughing.

Gods, he loved that silly little bird.

-

It was on Conall's first Boxing Day that Sandor proposed to Sansa. They'd just returned from the Stark's house, Conall passed smooth out on his mum's shoulder from too much turkey and mash. At nine months old, the boy was already eating like a damned horse.

And his name was _not_ Conall Florian. Sandor had stood strong on that front. In the end, they'd named him after Sandor himself, reusing his middle name of Angus. It was a strong name, and although the boy was built like his father, bigger than most one year olds already, he was sweet and docile. Much like his mother, thank the Gods.

Sansa went to lay him down and Sandor sat nervously at the foot of the bed, rolling the little black leather box wrapped in red paper around in his hand. Arya, of all people, had helped him pick out the ring, a yellow sapphire and diamonds with a gold band of leafs and flowers, and Catelyn had been the one to wrap it for him. His big fingers were not conducive to present wrapping.

"Hopefully he'll sleep all night." Sansa said softly as she joined him in their bedroom, slipping off her heels and reaching under her dress to roll down the leggings she wore.

"Hang on." he stopped her from finishing undressing.

"What is it?" she looked at him with a confused expression.

"Sit." he stood and motioned for her to sit where he had been. Cautiously she did, her brows knitted together. "I have one more present for you." he mumbled, fisting the box in his hand at his side.

"What?" she smiled broadly. "You mean turning my bum Christmas red last night wasn't my only gift?"

Sandor couldn't help but chuckle even though he felt like he might get sick. That had been an awfully nice gift.

"No." he took a calming breath and handed her the wrapped box. She took it with an excited grin. He waited until she'd carefully removed the wrapping without tearing it and then got down on one knee when she sat the paper to the side.

As she held the leather box in her hand, her smile faltered and she looked up at him. "What..." her voice came out a quiet whisper. "What is this?"

"Open it." he placed his hands on her knees and nodded towards the box. She opened it slowly. She took a sharp inhale, her mouth falling open and her eyes going comically wide as they flashed back up to him.

"A little backwards, I know." he gave a halfhearted grin, then took the box from her and removed the ring. "But it's not like we've gone about anything else in the traditional order." he picked up her left hand and held the ring to the tip of her ring finger.

"Sansa, little bird, marry me." he swallowed and met her gaze. "Please."

She swallowed several times, tears slipping from her eyes as she looked from him to the ring and back. "Yes." she whispered, then smiled and laughed. "Yes, of course, Sandor. Of course."

Breathing out a ragged breath of relief, he slid the ring onto her finger, glad that Catelyn knew she and Sansa wore the same ring size so it fit perfectly. As soon as it was in place, he found his arms full of little bird and his heart damn near bursting with love and pride and happiness.

No, things couldn't get much better for a scarred old dog like him. Especially a few minutes later and Sansa was moaning yes over and over again in his ear while her body wrapped around his and took him to the seven heavens with her.

And to think, it had all started out with a reluctant date, a trip to France, and one perfect French souvenir that now slept in the room down the hall.


End file.
